Nightmares in Fingerpaint
by Dakyloquacious
Summary: Maybe we're just afraid of the prints Fate left behind.   AU
1. Misstep

**Nightmares in Fingerpaint –**  
(maybe we're just afraid of the prints fate left behind)

* * *

**– Misstep –**  
_of being in the  
wrong place at the wrong time_

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** This story, despite straying from it's original course and developing a somber tone, is not something I'm not working on super-seriously. Just something to do while I plan meh new Masquerade/Runo fic~  
Inspired by the book _Just in Case_ by Meg Rosoff. I strongly recommend it (to those of mature minds). It currently holds second place on my fave books list~. Thanks to it, I have the adorable image of neurotic/clingy!Gus stuck in my head~ :D  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bakugan.

* * *

Despite having the last three years to clean up its appearance, the countryside hadn't improved.

The layers were miserably familiar; murky grey on top of gloomy green, occasionally split by spindly tree trunks that wearily suffered woody scabs and wilting tangles of branches and leaves. And the rain – pattering mildly, _teasingly_ against the windows – didn't help. Misty sprays blurred the world, could obscure and twist the image of a speeding vehicle beelining for the front of this rickety and stuttering bus—

Sharp pain in the heel of his hand forced him to squeeze his eyes shut, gasping. He sat still, not daring to release a breath until his resistant eyelids could be compelled into fluttering open. They instantly flickered to his palm, where taut fingers had dug crescent marks into the stark flesh.

His hand unraveled, and he leaned his head against the window, pounding temple begging to be soothed by the pane. Now the world passed by through the corner of his eye; boy and universe were separated by a sheet of glass that wobbled in its frame with every pothole and bump. Grey and green glided by smoothly, impersonal and depressingly _cold_ against his brow, like the touch of a phantom—

He jerked away and retreated firmly against the rugged plastic back of the seat, hugging a scruffy satchel decorated with stains and frayed straps closer to his chest. Dragging his eyes away from the laughing _pat-pat-pat_ of an increasingly bleary windowpane, he decided it was time to focus on something much less _ominous_.

Like the head of the person sitting in front of him. A harmless brown nest of rumpled strands, shining with a few days worth of dirt and grease and likely swarming with lice that _bulged_ with blood and reincarnated plagues…

Before hyperventilation could knock him out, his gaze was averted to his feet, and the toes planted against a muddy black floor where a million other shoes had sat, trailing in who-knows-what from who-knows-where to leave behind as a record of their malevolent presence on this bus.

Clamping his eyes shut with finality, he let out a muffled groan. It was more comforting to stay in this swaying darkness, unaware of the perils crawling within this feeble metal _coffin_ on wheels. He would just let panicked shrieks warn him if they were swerving into a ditch, or the screech of wheels wake him up as hijackers boarded the bus, waving guns and bearing sinister grins as heinous demands were made—

He had walked straight into a trap, it was as simple as that. He'd let his guard down, was left to the mercy of the universe, and this pitiful existence would end in pain and a gruesome death. Here, anyone (or anything) could do as they wish, because Fate was just a bitch like that…absolutely _anyone_…

**-gxm-**

He lurched into consciousness in the middle of a half-finished sentence; "_—five minutes from Horton_."

Dazed, he twisted around, disconcerted by the static click of a speaker being shoved away. It was only after the boy in front of him yawned, lazily stretching his arms to snatch at the bag in the compartment above him did realization kick in. The first step of this ludicrous quest was over.

Squirming in his seat, he winced as his stiff muscles protested against the onslaught of a hundred stabbing pins; he would just have to do his best to ignore the excruciating numbness. Rising from the seat shakily as the bus groaned to a halt, he joined the other three people ambling down the aisle.

The doors squeaked open and he stepped out, one foot on the road and the other on the last step, so that he wouldn't be seized immediately by the glacial breezes and the damp miasma of ozone and mildew. He blinked ruefully into the hazy drizzle; it was foolish, but there had been a tiny part of him hoping that the setting wouldn't match the white noise buzzing amiably around his mind's edges.

A small growl from behind jolted him out of his stupor, and he turned around to meet the sleepy glare of the driver. The man was scratching the stubble lining his jaw with one hand, the other fingering the speaker – most likely planning to unleash a volley of fuzzy swears for holding the bus up. Hastily, the lingering foot stumbled away; the doors rattled shut and the bus was grumbling away without sparing another second.

He watched it – the epitome of rust and spluttering exhaust – disappear into the fog. Shivering in his flimsy jacket and gripping the bag protectively, his expression wavered over saturated sidewalks and dewy grasses, then to the other passengers. Two of them (a young couple, if their linked arms, giggles, and matching suede jackets meant anything) were already scurrying towards one of the houses; the third, however, lingered on the sidewalk.

The boy who had sat in front of him, the one with the grimy hair, shuffled his feet impatiently down the pavement a yard or two before opting to scowl and huddle gloomily under a reddish-brown coat. He glanced his way for a moment, eyebrows raised – but apparently the sight of someone dawdling in the street wasn't particularly interesting, or perhaps he had remembered that it wasn't polite to stare, because he turned away after a second.

Breathing in slowly and cringing as the air tickled his throat, he took a hesitant step forward – he had to go somewhere, after all. Standing out here made him a prime target for kidnappers, homicidal maniacs, _hypothermia_…

Here in began his dilemma; this stop was as far as his planning had taken him.

Surely he could find a familiar landmark. All he had to remember the name of this street, that the bus had abandoned him on. From there he could easily find his way to a motel or something, though the thought hardly appealed to him. Motels here were ramshackle sore spots on the town, alive with only rodents and mass murderers on the run…

That cheery thought in mind, he found his landmark.

A choked moan followed recognition; the only differences to the dingy house, with its grey walls streaked with mud, was that it crouched behind a smothered lawn of weeds instead of ragged grass, and the windows were void of light and rowdy laughter.

There it stood, a darkened nightmare of crude jokes, pulsing blue veins, gasps and desperate warnings, quicksilver arching almost _beautifully_ from his hand–

"_Watch out!_"

A girl's shrill cry was followed immediately by the brassy scolding of a horn and squealing wheels. In a movement as jerkily fluent as his imagination he spun around, feet tripping over themselves as a pair of headlights blanched the skies; he tumbled unceremoniously into the sidewalk curb and, most inconveniently, a puddle.

The car hesitated, just enough to splatter a few droplets of rainwater on his jeans – but, according to the driver (_who had nearly turned him into roadkill)_, there was no reason to tarry.

"Are you okay?"

Slender hands were suddenly snatching his arm, his shoulder – _where had she come from?_ – trying to drag him upwards. Instinctively, he flinched out of the grasp, head snapping around; vigilant rabbit to saviour—

_(hunter)_.

* * *

**Edited August 12th~**


	2. Rescue and Damnation

**Nightmares in Fingerpaint –**  
(maybe we're just afraid of the prints fate left behind)

* * *

**– Rescue and Damnation –**  
_in her hands  
they were only the same_

* * *

He was saved and ruined by her eyes.

They were free, as the heavens were, like two irises of sky against shadowed skin and clouds; a clear baby blue blinking away the rain in her eyelashes, fixed onto him with attention that he found disconcertingly enthralling.

She had to be an angel. Only an angel could intervene in that split second before the car had struck, between life and demise. Only an angel could glow as she did, an enigmatic silhouette when no sun shone.

Her mouth was moving; honey and music that he couldn't bring himself to hear flowed between her lips. Finely boned cheeks shifted up and down, plastered with wet hair – what was that colour, orange? Rose? Gold? No, it was more like a smooth blend of iridescent colours… oranosegold?

The rain pelted down harder, forming a daggered sleet between the two. Somewhere enclosed in his chest, his heart twinged in annoyance – he wanted to defy nature's insistent barrier, reach forward and brush her bangs away from eyes that felt comfortably nostalgic…

**-gxm-**

Speaking up over the obnoxious rumble of the small vehicle was annoying, but the question had to be asked. "What's up with him?"

Mira glanced over her shoulder for a second, shrugging helplessly towards her friend hovering by the car hood. "I-I don't know Dan…he just won't answer me." Turning back around when the glaring headlights proved to be too much for her eyes, she shook the boy's shoulder again. "Are you in shock? Um…it's okay, the car's long gone, you aren't injured or anything…"

There was no flicker of change in his expression, no yielding of replication. Just panting lips parted in surprise and eyes that stared at her with shameless bewilderment. For a moment she wondered if he was deaf, or spoke another language; pity either situation rendered her services near useless.

"Er, if you keep sitting out here, you're going to get sick…"

To her relief, that got through to him – he looked away and straightened up, pressing a ratty bag to his chest with one hand and as the free one grabbed her arm uncertainly. Mira stood, hauling him up and guiding him towards the car, where Dan was already swinging open the passenger door and climbing in gratefully.

She had to wrestle with the handle for a few seconds. Typical that it would jam on a rainy day when she had a stranger, most likely subject to many problems (mental or otherwise) and desperately in need of supervision, hovering at her elbow; it finally popped open with a protesting squeak. Startled, the boy jumped, one foot backing away before she captured his wrist.

"Come on!" The din of rain plunking onto the streets stifled her voice; reluctance was the closest hint she had that he could hear her. "I'm serious, you really are going to get really sick out here! Just get in, we can drive you to wherever you're going!"

That got him moving, albeit slowly. Dragging his limbs through the muggy air, he clambered into the backseat; as soon as he was inside, she slammed the door shut and darted towards the front of the vehicle.

The inside of the car was no quieter than the street. The stuffy enclosure echoed with sounds similar to hammers being flung at tin walls; one of the few benefits this environment offered was the warmth roaring out of the heaters as Dan took the liberty of cranking the temperature control to full blast. For a few minutes they sat still, chill melting in their limbs as they listened to the grumbling engine and their chattering teeth.

Dan was the one who decided to break the awkward peace as he twisted around in the seat to look at the stranger, straight in the eye. "So what exactly is your _issue_?"

"Hey!" Mira hissed, punching his forearm as her eyes flashed towards the boy nervously. Confusion met her briefly, before her reproachful glare turned back towards Dan as he rubbed his arm indignantly. "Don't talk like that!"

"Well, it's not like you weren't wondering either…_ow!_ That's gonna end up bruising, you know!"

She acted indifferent to Dan's accusation, instead opting to reach up and adjust the rearview mirror. "So, where exactly do you need to go…er…"

The next statement _– I'm sorry, I never caught your name_ – withered on Mira's lips as her guest's face swayed onto the mirror. Fascinated, she examined the reserved reflection nestled beside the curve of her fingers; compared to the earlier fierce veil of rain, the month-old fingerprints smearing the glass may as well have provided an image in high-definition.

Skin, faded with a definite ashen tinge, stretched over his gaunt cheeks, contrasting against the cornflower blue curls clinging to his jaw. The rest of the dripping tangles were arrayed limply across hunched shoulders or fell in front of his eyes – pale green eyes that dominated the thin face and darted to every corner of vehicle.

"Have we met before?"

He twitched, bringing his eyes back up to meet her with a affably baffled expression. "I…I don't think so."

Recognition strengthened despite the denial; though only a hoarse husk, there was familiarity in his gravelly voice. Dan snickered as she turned around, knees scrambling onto her seat and fingers digging into the balding headrest.

"_Have we met before_…you know, I once tried using that line. I don't think the chick really understood what I meant though."

"No, we have!" Mira insisted, ignoring the other passenger as the words rolled excitedly off of her tongue. "Oh my god, it's been so _long_…still, I can't believe I didn't recognize you right away! Come on, you _have_ to remember me…"

Mute and timid in the face of Mira's exhilaration he shook his head.

"Really?" She pulled back, bemused. "Oh wow…then it really _has_ been a long time. Does Mira Clay ring a bell? Keith's sister?"

While Mira had expected some degree of mixed feelings (their previous relationship _had_ been, at best, tenuous), she had expected something much less…_dismayed_. The boy shrunk back, former coyness dancing in his eyes shattering. "K-Keith's sister? Really? Oh…wow…"

"Wow is right." Ignoring the twist in her gut (did she say something _wrong?_), Mira settled back into her seat with a broad smile. "I can't believe you're back! I mean…three, four years? Wait until everyone hears about this! And _Keith_, he'll be so happy, he hasn't…you really caused a lot of commotion, you know! Keith, he was so worried, even though, you know, he kept trying to pull off this _cool guy_ act…"

His lips twisted into a questionable expression – Mira decided to write it off as a nervous smile. "I'm sorry to hear I caused so much trouble," he said stiffly, a single finger tapping the broken skin of the bag. "I hope everything's okay _now_."

Mira's smile waned; maybe it was just the shades of venom, but she was beginning to think that her enthusiasm wasn't being reciprocated. "Well…people don't gossip about it as much anymore, but everyone still worries about—"

"Oh, hey!" With a snap of his fingers and proud grin, Dan barged into the conversation. "Are you the kid Lync told me about, the one who went crazy and ran off?"

With a gasp, Mira whirled around and punched him again. "Dan! Shut _up!_"

"What? It was just a _question!_"

"You don't ask questions like _that!_"

"It's fine." The boy interrupted shortly, jacket crinkling as he shifted around restlessly and crushed the bag tighter against his torso. "If you could just let me off here…"

"Huh?" Mira shook her head firmly as she looked at him through the mirror and gripped the steering wheel; she could hear Julie now, warning her about how that crease in her forehead may not go away someday. "We haven't even started driving…do you expect me to just let you back onto the street in _this_ weather? Where are you staying?"

"Er…" Bemused, she watched him glance out at the street with a dread-laced grimace. "Shadow's place, actually. Just…just right here."

Mira raised her eyebrows as he turned back around. "With Shadow, _here?_ He hasn't lived there for a year and a half now. Did you call beforehand? He would have mentioned you were coming, you know how he can't keep a secret."

"Oh!" Gulping weakly, he looked down at his feet with sudden interest and an embarrassed mumble. "I…I thought I would surprise everyone. I suppose that didn't exactly…work."

Blithe and triumphant, her smile returned. "Trust me, _everyone_ will be surprised. Listen, since your plans for the night didn't work out, why don't you stay over at our place? Dad won't mind, and Keith…well, Keith would just be so, so happy!"

His returning smile was forced, the bags under his eyes suddenly more noticeable. _He's had a long trip, he's tired_, she rationalized; a perfect reason for manners to be stretched.

"Ah, no thank you, I'd hate to intrude…"

"It isn't intruding," Mira insisted, smile constant and words eager. "We have a guest bedroom, you should remember that. Come on, for me…for Keith's sake?"

Jerked his head to the side, he gulped down again. "No, really, I have many money. I can just…just stay at a…_motel_ or something."

"Please…?"

"Hey, remember _me_ here?" With scowling words, Dan crushed the argument and pulled the attention his way. "Make up your _minds_ already! Motel, Mira's house, whatever, I just need to get home before my parents think I missed my bus again!"

"You _did_ miss your bus," she reminded, but didn't stress the point any further. Wincing at the rattling objection the engine made, Mira pulled her car away from the curb, guiding the wheels over the slick road. She looked into the mirror once more, managing to catch his gaze for a moment—

—and just stared at him at him for a second longer than necessary, wondering.

"It doesn't matter how much you protest – Keith would _really_ want to see you, so you're coming over to our house. Okay?"

Later, she convinced herself that it was just a trick of the eyes, but it _almost_ looked as though before giving in with slumped shoulders, he was reaching for the door handle. "All…all right. Just one night."

"There we go!" Mira finally turned her complete attention onto the road, a quick twist of the steering wheel to straighten out the tires shaking away her focus his image in the windshield. "It's great to have you back, Gus."

**

* * *

**

Edited August 12th~


	3. Rift

**Nightmares in Fingerpaint –  
**(maybe we're just afraid of the prints fate left behind)

* * *

**– Rift –**  
_don't pretend  
that it's not there_

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** Pronouns are a bitch, and more edits have been made on previous chapters~  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bakugam.

* * *

"Can't we listen to a CD?"

"I don't _have_ a CD player or anything in this car," Mira answered (for the third time) as she automatically slapped Dan's hand away from the controls. "Don't bother me while I'm driving."

Snorting, Dan leaned forward, eyeing the array of various scuffed buttons for the blessed switch. "Why can't you turn the radio off? It's either this _noise_ or some quiet; doesn't seem like a tough choice to me."

"Well, _sometimes_ the radio works…like here!" Oblivious to the screeching wheels and shouts from her passengers as they were jerked around, Mira slammed the brakes. Dan opened his mouth in a complaint, only to be shushed impatiently and forced into an intense silence. After a second or two, the bop of techno melodies and smooth voices beat out static. "See, it's Super Sync Sound!"

"Do you just drive onto this street and stop to listen to the radio?"

"Sometimes."

"…Good choice in station. But only because the JJ Dolls are _hot_," Dan linked his fingers behind his head and glanced into the back seat with a wide grin. "Right, Gus?"

A stony grunt answered him, as they had for the last few attempts at initiating conversation. Daubing on a smile (a feat that was becoming increasingly difficult), Mira's eyes flickered towards the rear-view mirror. "They have pretty good music, don't they?"

"Who the hell cares about that?" Dan said, grin growing sillier. "They're _hot_."

"Don't be such a _pi_—"

A flinty interruption wedged its way into the impending argument: "They aren't anything special."

Dan twisted around to reward Gus' statement with mystification. "Okay, _what?_ They're total babes! You _have_ seen a picture of them, right?"

"I've seen my share," he said sullenly, restless gaze focused on the street passing by and the thinning fog, marked by yellow instants of tarnished lampposts. "It's all make-up and PhotoShop."

Mira couldn't stop herself from joining in. "What about their music? They're pretty good singers…"

"Voice synthesizers and lip-sync. They're just a couple of fakes who ride the high life by doing nothing more than sleeping around with the right people."

At least he was finally beginning to talk.

"Hey!" Dan gritted his teeth; he wasn't going to concede or let this go until the other boy understood the importance of good looks on female celebrities. "None of that matters because they are really, really, _really_ hot!"

"Dan?"

"Any sane guy would totally recognize that!"

"Dan…"

"Are you gay or something?"

"_Dan!_"

Aforementioned boy jumped at his name, snapping around with a sheepish expression, just in time to avoid Gus' furious flush. "Heh, sorry, just kinda slipped out…"

Mira rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder. "Whatever, this is your stop anyways. Talk to you tomorrow."

He wasted no time – four seconds and the door slammed shut with a hurried "Thanks for the ride!"

As soon as the brunet's house was hidden behind glossy streets and drizzle, Mira decided it was safe to speak again. "Dan's actually a nice guy. Not the smartest – he was at a summer track meeting thing in the city, and missed the bus back with his team because he was eating in the _cafeteria_. And he says some really inappropriate stuff, as…as you just heard. But really one of the nicest guys ever, heart of gold—"

"You can stop _advertising_ him." He sat with a rigid back, tensing as the car bounced over a pothole – Mira missed the useless lump she had picked up on the street over the harsh man with a voice that no car heater could warm. "I'm not interested."

"Oh…um, okay…" Sighing, Mira settled back into her seat, fingers tapping along the plastic rim of the steering wheel. "So…what have you been up to?"

"Stuff."

"Ah…I see. And…heh, how about all this rain?"

"I'm more than fine with not talking, you know."

"…Okay." A bit blunt, but Mira could handle that; she'd lived with two similarly disposed males her entire life. But that didn't mean she was any more inclined to shut up. "It's just been so long and all, no one's heard from you, so of course I'm a bit _curious_…"

Shifting blue caught her attention in the rear-view mirror as Gus leaned forward, jagged scowl twisting his lips. "Maybe I wasn't _clear_ before. When I said I was fine with not talking, I meant that there is not a thing I could enjoy more than _not_ talking with _you_."

The remark was clear even through the patter of rain, and she cursed the storm's break. Life would be much simpler if she could conveniently _not_ hear the blatant insults.

Reddening and biting back a retort, Mira snapped her eyes onto the street. "Look, I know that we didn't really get along in the past, but we've both grown up since then. I'm sure that…" —_you've learned a little bit about being civil_. "…we can talk to each other _politely_ now."

"Politely?" Gus' hollow chuckles couldn't turn her around, but she didn't have to see his likely sneer to find herself infuriated by it. "You might not know this, but being a _fake_ little bitch isn't the same thing as being courteous."

This was the point where pointless niceties were finally eschewed. "You know what?" she snapped, yanking the wheel sharply; the involuntary yelp lent a sick satisfaction, but not enough to stop her from bumping against the curb. "You wanted to stay at a motel so much, you may as well walk there! I mean, if you just can't _stand_ to be _reasonable_…"

"Er…" Mira still couldn't bring herself to glance at the mirror or turn around, even though the momentary hesitation was killing her. Finally, her anger was rewarded with the squeak of the car door and shuffling of lanky limbs. "F-Fine!"

She took a deep breath as the door was flung shut, and then another when orangish-brown and blue passed by, hastening ahead – he was still so wet from his last sojourn in the rain, and that jacket was as good as useless…

Biting her lip, Mira watched him stalk away, stumbling every few feet and constantly glancing from side to side, as though out of the misted shadows something was planning to leap out, attack—

—he wasn't carrying his bag.

She whipped around; it sat forlorn on her backseat, still dripping onto the balding fabric. "Great, just fan-frickin'-_tastic_…" she mumbled, turning around – of course the proper thing to do was give the bag back. It wasn't like catching up to him was going to be a problem; the idiot had given up on walking and just stood there, a lost, drenched puppy spotlighted in the bounds of a flickering lamppost and shrinking away in unknown territory…

Softened, she eased the car forward, until she was slowing to a stop beside him. It wasn't like she had to put up with him for long, just until she could dump him off into Keith's care.

"Gus! Your bag—" Sharp, damp winds flooded in as soon as the window was rolled down, cutting Mira off; her quarry jumped, sparing her a glance before lurching away. "Gus, stop, you forgot your stuff!"

Apparently, she couldn't be heard. Muttering to herself darkly, Mira fumbled with the seatbelt till it popped free.

"Hey!" The cold acted quickly, seeping into her clothes and joints (and she was just fortunate enough splash directly into a puddle, lucky her), but now was not the time to be prissy; she had a weirdo to help. Mira raised her voice, hand frozen on the door handle. "Okay, Gus, just get back in the car! Look, I'm _sorry_, but—!"

Pivoting on his foot and shivering arms folded across his chest (apparently, she _could_ be heard), crystallized green glared through the hair the gust tossed into his face. Ebbing lamppost lights sent a sparked battle of shadows and fluorescence ghosting across his face. "But _what?_ I'm fine, I'm sure I can find the nearest motel. In time."

"Come on…" Skirting around the car, Mira advanced, hands held out in a gesture that wasn't perceived as a beckoning peace offer. Gus staggered back, taut and ready to flee; this was like trying to coax an injured animal into understanding that it wasn't going to be chopped up and tossed into the oven for dinner. "If we stay out here any longer we'll both get sick, okay? And you don't want to stay at some motel, there's all kinds of, you know, cockroaches, _rats_…"

"—and bloodthirsty psychos," he finished, faltering – Mira immediately followed up and snatched advantage, nevermind the outlandish 'bloodthirsty psycho' comment.

"Yeah, you never know. Besides…what about Keith? I mean…" She stepped onto the sidewalk gingerly, smile weak. "Look, I really _was_ happy to see you…_before_ you started being a jerk."

The briefest flash of smug satisfaction broke through his porcelain expression, and then Gus was solemn once more, waiting for her to continue.

"And I really _do_ want you to see come to my place. Keith…he'll be _so_ happy to see you again, and…and you seem really down yourself, so it might do you a lot of good to see him too. Can we just…" Another stride and she outstretched a stiff hand, expectant. "_Pretend_ to get along, for his sake?"

"Well…" Gus squirmed, foot to foot, casting his face down with a broken mumble. "I _hate_ you."

"That's why I said '_pretend for Keith's sake_'."

He acknowledged that with a curt nod, not once looking up. "And motels are just…_ugh_…"

"And it's _really_ cold," Mira said hurriedly, the accompanying chatter of teeth solidifying the obvious. "So if you could just think a little quicker before we both end up with pneumonia…"

While Mira hadn't anticipated that to be the deal-breaker, it was effective; disregarding her completely, Gus tottered back to the vehicle, wrenching open the door and vanishing inside. "Hurry up!" he called out, cross voice muffled under the engine, "before you run out of gas and we end up stranded!"

If that weren't actually a very real possibility, she would have laughed.


End file.
